Most nodded, relieved.
The president instructed, “Bring him in. We’ll resume after lunch.”
The advisors had eaten in the Cabinet Room and were nervously killing time sipping coffee. A buzzer sounded, followed by a woman’s voice announcing, “Mr. President, there’s a visitor here to see you, accompanied by CIA Special Agent Ryan Foremost.”
“Send them in, please.” The president set down his coffee.
Agent Ryan escorted the psychic, Max Jones, into the room, introducing him to the president and advisors who stood to greet the tall man wearing a tie-dyed shirt and blue jeans.
“Good to meet you, Max,” the president said, shaking his hand. “Please have a seat.” He looked at Frank. “Why don’t you take the lead on this one?”
“Sure, Mr. President.” Frank turned his attention toward Max. “Could you please tell us what you know?”
Max surveyed the room filled with the world’s top-ranking advisors, who were staring at him, waiting to hear what he had to say. “Well, I saw an angel. He was the leader. And spirits, lots of spirits…hundreds of thousands of them!”
The advisors sat back in their seats trying to comprehend the enormity of the enemy’s ranks and accept the possibility of supernatural forces.
Frank asked, “By spirits, do you mean that the Earth Sentinels are not of this world?”
“I’m not sure. The angel isn’t, but it’s possible some of the spirits have physical bodies here on earth. They could have been visiting the spirit realm on a temporary basis, much like I was.”
“So, it’s possible some of them might have a weak link, physical bodies, we could get a hold of.”
“Yeah, I heard one man’s name—Chief Keme.”
A senior advisor mentioned, “Isn’t that the name of the Indian shot by the Canadians?”
“But he’s dead,” the Chief of Staff interjected.
“Were any members of the chief’s tribe there?” Frank asked Max, then clarified, “In the spirit realm, I mean.”
“Yes, now I remember. There were a dozen of them. A woman and the rest were men…most likely the tribe’s elders.”
Frank pondered this information “Would it be possible for you to return and discover the identities of the Earth Sentinels?”
“I’m not sure. The angel noticed me last time and will be on guard.”
“Tell us more about this angel. Does he have a name?”
“I didn’t hear his name, but I did some research. I believe he’s the fallen angel Bechard, Master of the Elements.”
The men scoffed under their breath.
An advisor piped up, “Fallen angel? Isn’t that a demon?”
“Well, technically yes, but they’re not all trying to steal your soul. Some are like us, simply experiencing the world.”
“But with magical powers,” quipped one of the advisors.
The others chuckled.
“Yes,” Max confirmed, slightly embarrassed.
The president was annoyed by the roving conversation, interrupting them, “Men, we need to explore all possibilities. If Max can infiltrate the group and get more information, we should support him.” He asked Max, “Think you can get back in there?”
Max was uncertain. “Mr. President, I can try.”
“National security depends on you being able to do this. Don’t just try. Do it!” the president demanded.
After Max left the room, the president asked his advisors, “If Chief Seme was a—”
An advisor interrupted, “Sir, I believe it’s Keme…Chief Keme.”
“Yes…if Chief Keme is a member of the Earth Sentinels, then it makes sense his tribe is as well.” The president looked at the foreign relations chairman. “Could you find out if the Canadian prime minister believes the Earth Sentinels are responsible for the recent storms, and if he’s willing to stop them?”
“Sir, once we play our hand, it’ll eliminate any possibility of covert surveillance,” the chairman stated. “We might want to do that first.”
“What exactly do you expect to learn through surveillance?” the president asked impatiently. “Couldn’t you grab them for interrogation?”
“Mr. President, those people don’t live in the US. We’d need the cooperation of the Canadian government.”
The president fumed. He didn’t like having to ask permission. “So the quandary is…do we do surveillance first, possibly wasting time, or go straight to the top and risk being the laughing stock of Canada for believing in voodoo.” The president pondered the predicament a moment. “Let’s do the surveillance, but just for a couple days. We don’t have time for more. And for Christ’s sake, don’t get caught!”
Bechard stood next to the crystal ball, watching the president and his staff scheme. He sighed deeply. Will they never learn?
Blog Post No. 2
THE NUMBER OF visitors on Norman P. Dunstead’s blog had dramatically increased. On one hand, he was happy as a pig in the mud at his blog’s newfound popularity, but, on the other hand, he was deeply concerned that the earth was genuinely being invaded by aliens or supernatural forces. The people reading his blog were looking for answers, but he didn’t have any. All he could do was write about the events as they happened while hoping he would connect the dots at some point in the near future.
His latest post, “Armageddon is Upon Us,” contained a map of the supernatural storms and a pictorial timeline of the previous weather phenomena, starting with the lightning strikes at Bear Claw Lake. He also included a video of Chief Keme being shot, which had been hosted on the Channel 5 News website for a few hours before being replaced by a sanitized version, but not before Norman pirated a copy that he proudly displayed.
Meeting at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel
AFTER A LONG day at a UN Security Council meeting, the president and his staff went back to the presidential suite at the historic Waldorf-Astoria Hotel. Longtime White House travel assistant Tyrone Jefferson greeted them at the door, taking their overcoats.
“Pour me a stiff one, would you?” the president asked Tyrone, plopping onto a sofa. “God, I’m so tired. Anyone else like one?”
Tyrone expertly mixed the assorted drinks in crystal glasses, serving them on a silver platter before resuming his post.
As everyone sipped his or her drinks, the president proposed, “What if we didn’t fight this? What if we used this opportunity to move forward with alternative fuels?”
One of his advisors said, “Sir, there’s nothing wrong with using oil,” mostly because he had a cushy job at a big oil company waiting for him after his assignment was over.
The Department of Energy Chief of Staff sighed. “There are much better solutions out there. Let’s face it, oil is a dinosaur. No pun intended.”
“Without new drilling, fuel prices will sky rocket!” the economic advisor warned.
Another advisor said to the president, “Sir, there are a lot of forces against you on this…big money, namely the fossil fuel boys…the House and Senate, and even the general public doesn’t understand the big picture. They just see the price at the pumps.
“And we can’t ignore the fact that most people can’t afford to pay more for fuel. Some can barely afford food. We’d have to subsidize prices, and we’re already trillions in debt.”
“Before we go any further,” a commanding general interjected, “Have you considered that the Earth Sentinels’ power may have peaked? Do we have proof they can carry out their threats?” He sat stiffly on the couch in full uniform waiting for an answer.
The first advisor concurred, “That’s a legitimate question. We could ask the Earth Sentinels for proof.” Several others nodded in agreement. “But if we ask for a sign, what would it be?”
Denise Zilder, the head at the Environmental Protection Agency, suggested, “How about fixing the water supply in Pennsylvania damaged by fracking?”
The president countered a bit too loudly, “Now, Denise, we don’t know for sure that fracking is r
esponsible for those bad wells.”
Denise held her tongue, but fumed inside.
The advisor suggested, “How about something sexier, like diffusing the volcano rumbling in Yellow Stone Park? Everyone loves that place!”
The president said, “Yes, but no one knows that’s a problem. How about something everyone’s familiar with…”
Another advisor spoke up, “How about a flood somewhere? That would make a great visual!”
The president stared at the advisor and thought, What an idiot.
The same advisor suggested, “How about a snowstorm in Southern California?”
“Hmmm….that might work,” the general agreed.
The president felt they weren’t making any traction. “Why don’t we meet in the morning after we’ve had time to think this through?”
The Spy Returns
THE PSYCHIC SEARCHED the spirit realm for two days before rediscovering the Earth Sentinels’ domain. Since no one was present, Max took the time to look around, admiring the spiral-patterned stone pavers and ornate benches. He went over to the crystal ball, peering inside, trying to see past the swirling blue mist.
“Looking for something?” Bechard asked, startling Max who jumped back, putting his hands behind his back like a child caught stealing cookies. With a slight quiver in his voice, he answered, “I won’t bother explaining. I’m sure you know why I’m here.”
Bechard stared at Max. His penetrating eyes and tall stature intimidated the government spy, who felt the fallen angel’s energy permeate his soul. “Yes, Max, I know why you are here. It really is pointless to resist our demands, especially when they are for your own good. Why do you fight being helped?”
“I’m not fighting anything. It’s just my job.”
“Just a job? Saying it’s just a job, duty, or whatever you choose to call it—is just a way of blaming someone else. Ultimately, it is your choice. I believe the Allied Forces prosecuted the World War II German soldiers and officers as war criminals, refusing to accept the excuse, ‘I was just following orders.’”
Max was insulted by the analogy and curtly replied, “It’s a little harsh comparing me to the Nazis.” His righteous indignation faltered. “Anyway, this situation kind of snuck up on me. Usually, I’m searching for the location of an enemy or something like that.”
“The enemy? Who is the enemy? Anyone not doing what you want them to do? That doesn’t make them wrong.”
“How do you know what you’re doing is right?” countered Max.
“An excellent question!” Bechard retorted. “The truth is I don’t know. There is only one who does and he’s not a member of our group.”
A chill went down Max’s spine.
“Tell me, Max, do you have a problem with our demands?”
“I don’t know what your demands are.”
“Here, read them, then give me your honest feedback.” Bechard handed him a scroll.
As Max read it, he was surprised that the Earth Sentinels had requested nothing for themselves. No riches, positions of power, no country takeovers, just demands that the world use earth-friendly processes.
“You are wrong about that,” Bechard explained, “There is something in it for each of us—clean air, clean water, a way of life uninterrupted by people exploiting the earth’s resources.”
“What’s in it for you?” Max asked, perturbed that the angel was reading his mind.
“I prefer to keep the earth around for as long as possible. At this rate, it won’t exist much longer, and then what would I do? Go home?” Bechard laughed, flashing his perfect white teeth. “How about you? What’s in it for you? A paycheck? A feeling of power? At least be honest with yourself. Tell me, do you care about the earth at all?”
“Of course!”
“Then maybe it’s time to prove it,” Bechard stated, pausing to let his words sink in. “Join us.”
Max was caught off guard by the invitation and hesitated.
Bechard advanced toward Max, who flinched, afraid of retribution, but the fallen angel proceeded past him, waving his hand over the crystal ball. “Look closely,” he whispered.
The mist cleared, revealing the earth inside. Max watched the United States come into view, magnifying until the city of New York was clearly visible. Boats moved in and out of the harbor. The spy recognized the Manhattan cityscape. Taxis and cars drove back and forth on the crowded downtown streets. The scene shifted to the UN headquarters lined with world flags, then moved inside to the Security Council chamber. Max saw world leaders and the US president sitting at an enormous round table discussing the crisis created by the Earth Sentinels.
Bechard stared at the glass sphere. “These leaders don’t know how to deal with real power. You can let your government use you if you wish, but our cause will succeed.” He turned to study Max, who was too scared to look the angel in the eye. “Don’t be afraid. I am trying to help you and all of mankind. Again, I ask you…join us. Together, we can make a difference.”
Max replied, “I’m sorry, but I can’t betray my country.”
“But you can betray the world.” Bechard sighed. “Very well, tell your president he’ll have his sign in the morning. Now leave.”
Max left confused. What sign? Regardless, he knew he had to relay the message.
The Sign
THE US PRESIDENT dreaded getting up the next morning. He lay in the hotel bed wondering what ‘sign’ was going to happen. What if it’s bad? Will it affect my family? He cursed himself for being so smug. He looked at the crystal chandelier hanging from the coffered ceiling and the silk draperies that covered the grand windows overlooking Park Avenue, realizing that all the power in the world meant nothing if his family was hurt.
His personal cell phone rang on the nightstand. The caller ID displayed his wife’s name. A wave of relief washed over him. He answered it, “Hello!”
“Hello,” she responded cheerfully.
“Are you and the kids enjoying Vermont?”
“Yes! It’s beautiful this time of year, although a bit chilly, but we’re ready to come home.”
Still flush with gratitude that his family was safe, he said, “I can’t wait to see you and the girls.”
She paused. “You seem different. Is everything all right?”
“Lots of pressure here at the UN. God, I’ll be so glad when this term is over. I need to spend more time at home.”
“Really?” his wife replied, clearly surprised. “The girls would like that.”
There was a knock on the hotel door.
“Honey, I’ve got to go. We’ll talk later. I love you.” His last three words hung in the air.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes. Tell the girls I love them.”
“Okay, now I’m officially worried.”
“Honey, please...”
“Okay, okay, I love you too.”
The knock came again.
“Gotta go…”
“Bye.”
He put on a bathrobe with the presidential emblem sewn on the breast pocket, then answered the door, but no one was there. Down the hall, four Secret Service body guards stood by the elevator staring straight ahead. They glanced at the president, then resumed their positions.
The president noticed a basket on the floor. It was covered with opalescent cellophane and tied with blue ribbon. How odd! he mused, picking it up, reasoning that his assistant must have left it.
Back in the room, he sat on the bed, placing the basket next to himself. He untied the ribbon. The cellophane slid off, revealing a snow globe nestled in blue satin. The president picked it up, peering inside the glass, shocked to see a miniature angel wearing a blue robe and waving at him through the tumbling plastic snow. Afraid, he dropped the snow globe, which bounced on the bedspread.
At this point, a few things ran through the president’s mind. What the hell was that!? Is that a real angel? Is he the Earth Sentinels’ leader? Am I losing my mind?
He hesitan
tly leaned across the bed to retrieve the snow globe, tilting it upright. The faux snow swirled around the angel, who pointed at the window coverings. The president assumed the angel wanted him to look outside, so he pushed a button on the nightstand. The draperies glided open, but instead of a panoramic view of New York City, the scene was completely white. Confused, the president got up, walking over to the windows. Up close, he noticed snowflakes hitting the glass. A blinding snowstorm raged outside. Strange for late September, he thought, checking the snow globe. The angel motioned with his arms, giving a “time out” signal. The blizzard immediately stopped, allowing the president to observe the streets below.
The traffic was at a complete standstill. Over a foot of snow had fallen in a matter of minutes. Confused drivers climbed out of their vehicles and pedestrians brushed the snow off their heads and shoulders.
“All right, I believe you!” the president conceded, watching the chaos below. “But I’m not telling anyone about this. They’ll have me committed and that idiot vice president will take over.” The president looked at the glass ball to see the angel’s reaction, but it was empty, except for the snow piled on the bottom.
He tipped the globe upside down, finding the windup key, twisting it several times. The notched cylinder inside moved over thin strips of metal, plucking out the song “Let It Snow”. The president smiled as he watched the snow fall inside the globe, partially because he was relieved that nothing too bad had happened, but also because he admired his enemy’s clever proof of power. Maybe the Earth Sentinels will be reasonable after all.
The Official Response
AFTER THREE DAYS of emergency meetings at the UN headquarters, the majority of the world’s leaders agreed that it wasn’t possible to meet the Earth Sentinels’ demands in the time frame given. Cost was the main reason cited, but they also felt there weren’t enough renewable energy solutions to replace fossil fuels. Countries with nuclear weapon arsenals had no intention of dismantling them, and, last but not least, the leaders refused to submit to an alien force or publicly admit such a force existed.
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